After what seemed an eternity, Sherev’s voice came through the static. “—here. Are you—ding me?”
Kirk clutched the arms of the chair. “We’re here, Rhen. The Somerville is on its way. Status?”
“Not good. The explosion . . . I and the other two were thrusting in opposite directions when it blew, at high speed. The blast dazed all of us, but our suits must have kept accelerating. By the time we recovered, we were already hundreds of kilometers apart and out of thruster fuel. We must be thousands apart by now, and moving fast. Captain, if a debris fragment were to hit one of us at this speed . . .”
Kirk nodded. Her account matched what the Caliban’s remaining three personnel had reported. “Just hang tight. We’re coming to beam you to safety. Another twenty, thirty minutes.”
A deep male voice interposed. “Ah. Arhanla here, Captain. I fear that’s cutting it quite close for me. I sustained an oxygen leak. It’s patched, but my supply is dwindling. I’m . . . meditating to minimize my respiration, but swift rescue would be appreciated, sir.”
“Captain?” Ensign Hussein at the science station gave Kirk a worried look. “I’m getting suit telemetry from all three, sir. I confirm, Arhanla’s oxygen is dangerously depleted. A human might’ve already passed out.”
“The others?” Kirk asked him.
“Isurugi has no more than forty minutes’ air remaining, sir. Commander Sherev . . . It’d be right down to the wire, sir.”
“Once we get in range, can we beam all three at once?”
Hussein shook his head. “The subspace radiation from the explosion is creating interference. Transporter range will be no more than six hundred kilometers, three hundred on the safe side.”
Lieutenant Corot at the navigation station frowned, brushing back a strand of her honey-brown hair. “Sir, that means we’ll have to enter the debris disk, right within the new-formed field of debris from the explosion. It increases the navigation hazard considerably. We’ll have to proceed slowly.”
Sherev’s voice over the comm was heavy. “Sounds like you can’t save all of us, Jim. Go get Arhanla and Isurugi. Obvious choice.”
“I don’t accept that,” Kirk barked. “There has to be another option, a way to save all three of you.”
“I’m not worth it! Listen to me. I caused this. I was reckless, I didn’t listen to Arhanla’s cautions. I won’t be responsible for getting him killed!”
“And I won’t be responsible for letting you die! Think of your family, Rhen.”
“I am. How could I face my kids if I let someone else die to save myself?”
“That doesn’t have to happen. I refuse to believe in a scenario where it’s impossible to win.”
She laughed. “Then it’s true what they say. You cheated on the Kobayashi Maru.”
“It wasn’t a valid test to begin with. It was designed to force defeat no matter what you did. In real life, there’s always a way. Just give us time to find it.”
He stepped forward to study the astrogation display. “Plot their positions, and ours,” he told the navigator. With that done, he studied the field of battle and considered his options.
He turned to Hussein a moment later. “Ensign. If we channel all shield power to forward deflectors, how much would that improve our maximum safe speed through the debris field?”
Ajay Hussein’s eyes widened in concern, but he applied himself to the problem. “Ah, by about a hundred ninety percent, Captain. But it would leave us vulnerable to lateral strikes . . .”
“Which are less likely if we move fast enough. And we wouldn’t have to drop shields to transport, saving us further time. It could work. We make a shallow dive through the debris field on the shortest possible course that gets us in transporter range of all three of our people. We beam one party up en passant, then continue without slowing down to get the other.”
“But, sir,” Justine Corot put in, “from our current position, Commander Sherev is closer. We’d be beaming up Mister Arhanla last.” The young woman flushed. Clearly she was susceptible to the Deltan man’s potent allure.
“No, Jim,” Sherev said forcefully. “Don’t gamble like I did. Get . . . Arhanla first.” She already sounded short of breath.
“This way, we can save all of you,” Kirk insisted. “I won’t knowingly sacrifice one of my people when there’s another option.”
“Damn . . . fool!”
Ignoring her, Kirk took the center seat again. “All power to forward deflectors. Set fastest intercept course and engage, best available speed. Hussein, coordinate with transporter room. Get a lock on all three people and keep that lock! Beam up as soon as we’re in range. Corot, scan for potential impactors along our course. Coordinate with phaser crew for point defense. Communications, inform sickbay to have a medical team standing by in the transporter room.”
The crew acknowledged his orders one by one, and at his command, the Somerville surged forward. Within minutes, they had entered the debris disk. At first, there was no visible sign of any change; in the vast emptiness of space, even a “dense” field of debris had its particles millions of kilometers apart. But the longer the ship remained within the disk, the higher the odds of impact—and at these velocities, the kinetic energy of a pebble’s impact could rival a hit from a Klingon disruptor bank.
Soon, a pinpoint burst of light flared on the viewscreen and the ship rocked from the impact against its skintight deflector screens. The hit was comparatively mild, no more than a grain of sand. Minutes later, another micrometeoroid exploded against the screens, then another soon after that. The debris was getting denser. The crew around Kirk was growing nervous, but he remained focused on his goal. “Steady as she goes, helm.”
“Entering maximum transporter range for Commander Sherev, sir,” Hussein reported. “Locking on now.” A tense moment passed. “Transporter room reports . . . Sherev aboard and safe, sir!”
Kirk felt a surge of relief, but there was no time to celebrate. “Hold course, helm. Best speed to the others.”
“Eighty seconds to intercept,” reported the Caitian at the helm, whose name Kirk couldn’t recall.
“Status on the others, Hussein?”
“Arhanla’s air is nearing critical, sir. We’re cutting it close.”
“Please hurry, sir,” Arhanla called. “Don’t . . . don’t let me die alone. No one to share my essence with . . . Everything lost . . .”
“We won’t let you down, Ensign,” Kirk assured him. “We’re almost there.”
An alarm sounded from Corot’s console. “Incoming debris, bearing thirty-two mark eight! Locking phasers—”
But it was too late. The ship rocked under a heavy impact, and the lights and console displays flickered. “Damage report!” Kirk barked as soon as he steadied himself.
“Deflectors down to sixty percent, sir. We can’t keep up this speed!” Corot blinked tears from her eyes as she said it.
But Kirk knew he couldn’t hesitate. He had to weigh two people against the entire crew. “Slow to revised best speed. Hold intercept course. Engineer, divert all possible power to boost transporter range!”
“Sir . . .” Hussein’s voice was bleak. “Starboard transporter emitters are down. We’re rerouting power around the damage, but it cuts our maximum range in half.”
Kirk felt a hollow void open up in his gut. “Do your best, Ensign. We have to try.”
In the end, it took another three minutes to reach transporter range and beam Isurugi and Arhanla aboard. The report from the transporter room was grim. “Sir . . . Arhanla didn’t make it.”
Corot let out a sob and was unable to stop herself from hurling an accusing look at Kirk. But at this moment, Kirk could hardly blame her.
Eagle’s Landing, Vega IX
For the next few days, Sherev refused to speak to Kirk outside of the line of duty. They both tried to comport themselves with dignity during Arhanla’s memorial service, for the sake of his grieving family, but the tension between them was palpabl
e nonetheless.
Leonard McCoy was still there to offer Kirk support, though. The young captain was surprised by how quickly he’d grown to rely on the older doctor’s friendship. Or maybe it was just the Saurian brandy. “Sherev is convinced there was no way to save them all,” Kirk told McCoy as he sat in his living room and nursed his third drink of the evening. “That I was wrong to try. I just can’t accept that, Bones.” He was too weary to bother with the full nickname, but McCoy took the elision in stride. “It could have worked, if not for that freak impact at just the wrong time. It was a risk, but a calculated one.”
“But she isn’t wrong, Jim,” the doctor said. “Try as you might, you can’t save everyone. That’s a lesson all doctors have to learn. Sometimes . . . sometimes you just have to accept the losses when they happen, and let them motivate you to keep on fighting to save those you can.” A haunted look passed behind his eyes, and Kirk sensed he was speaking from experience. But whatever loss preoccupied him seemed very personal, and Kirk was reluctant to pry.
“That’s exactly what I try to do,” Kirk said. “To keep fighting. The problem with teaching us to prepare for no-win scenarios is that it gives us an excuse to stop trying. To lose our will.” His thoughts again went back to the Farragut, as they did every time he lost someone he was responsible for. To the time that people had died because he had not tried hard enough. But he kept those thoughts to himself. He was already leaning heavily enough on McCoy’s shoulder without adding that burden.
After a moment’s quiet, he shook his head. “I can live with trying to save someone and failing. I have no choice but to live with it, any more than you do. But what I will not accept is failing to try. I wasn’t about to write off Rhen’s life without even making the attempt. Because if I could do that once . . . how many more lives might I decide were expendable in the future?”
McCoy refilled both their glasses. “It’s a terrible trick the universe plays on us. If we want to do jobs that let us save lives . . . we have to accept sometimes being responsible for people’s deaths. In the long run, we just have to hope the good we do is worth the cost to our own souls.”
* * *
As both men had work the next day—and since McCoy was starting to become a maudlin drunk—Kirk soon called a cab for the doctor and sent him on his way. The next morning at the research station, the captain was not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but at least he was functional. He concentrated on the work, since it still had to be done.
Yet it wasn’t long before Rhenas Sherev showed up at his office door, surprising him. “Can I have a moment, Captain?”
“Of course.” Kirk gestured her to a seat and sat patiently, not knowing what to expect.
The commander sighed, her antennae fidgeting. “I’m sorry, Jim. For blaming you. The fact is, I was blaming myself. I felt responsible for causing the explosion, for getting Arhanla killed, and I was angry at you for not letting me pay for my sins.”
He leaned toward her. “Rhen . . . I got the report—”
She held up a hand. “I got it too. The radiation signature from the blast . . . it proved it wasn’t a reactor overload. It was a disruptor bomb. The spacegoing faction, they must’ve booby-trapped their base in the event of enemy capture. Just one more unexploded bomb, like so many wars leave lying around long afterward. We didn’t detect it, didn’t know what to look for, couldn’t have known it was there. My plan should have worked, if not for one random factor I couldn’t have anticipated.” A pause. “Just like your plan.”
Kirk looked down at his hands. “I appreciate you saying that. Honestly, I’ve been second-guessing myself for days, wondering if there was a possibility I missed. It helps to hear that from . . . someone whose judgment I respect so much.”
She smiled, but it was tinged with pain. “You know, Jim . . . I was this close to opening my helmet and forcing the issue. Taking myself out of the equation so you’d have to go save the others.” He stared at her, shocked. “But I warred with myself over the decision long enough for the transporter to catch me. I suppose . . . I respected your judgment too much. I knew, on some level, that if you believed the plan could work, I should give you the chance. It’s because of my faith in you as a captain that I’m still alive.”
Kirk was touched, but he resisted accepting the praise. “I wish Arhanla were here to say the same.”
She nodded, her antennae sagging. “Dealing with loss is part of command—which is why I’m not interested in it. But you showed me that the time for that is after it happens, not before. I admire your refusal to quit when there’s even the slightest glimmer of hope. That persistence won’t always pay off, but it’s important not to give up on it. To take our failures as learning experiences, use them to goad us to keep moving, keep striving.”
He sat a moment, absorbing. “Those are wise words. Worth keeping in mind going forward.”
Her head tilted. “Forward, sir?”
He sighed. “I received new orders today. The Sacagawea is about to be relaunched—and Starfleet wants me to finish what I started. I’ve been ordered to report back as her captain in three weeks.”
Sherev beamed. “That’s great news, Jim!”
“It is. Especially since the new assignment is for an exploration tour. No more border patrol for me.”
“Even better.” She peered at him. “Then why do you sound ambivalent?”
“Not ambivalent, just . . . keenly aware of the burden that comes with it. When I think about going back to that bridge after what happened last time . . .”
Sherev rose and crossed her arms. “What have we just been talking about?” she demanded. “I mean, Uzaveh, if a stubborn cuss like me can admit she was wrong to blame herself, then it shouldn’t be so hard for you to do the same. You still saved more lives than you lost that day. And if Starfleet had any doubts that you did the best you could, they wouldn’t have given you the ship back.”
He smiled. “I guess what I’m saying is . . . I appreciate your moral support at times like these. And there probably will be more such times ahead, for all our best efforts to prevent them.” He paused. “Most of the crew has been reassigned. I’m going to need a science officer. I’d like it to be you, Rhen.”
Her antennae jerked backward in surprise. After a moment, though, she gave a wistful smile. “I’m touched by the offer, Jim. And frankly, recent events have soured me on Vegan archaeology. I could use a different challenge. And . . . I could use your moral support too.”
They clasped hands, and Kirk felt deep gratitude for her friendship. He hoped that the new memories that he and Sherev would form together on the Sacagawea would help him lay to rest the memory of what had happened the last time he was aboard that ship.
SACAGAWEA
EARLY 2262
Six
I hereby declare victory in the Battle of Qalras. The invading fleet has been repelled, but at a heavy cost. We destroyed one of their vessels and severely damaged two more, but the crews of two battle cruisers and three birds-of-prey won their places in Sto-Vo-Kor in the process. These creatures’ armor and weapons are unlike anything in Klingon experience.
. . . The enemy towed their damaged ships away into warp, leaving us no prizes to claim. But from what we were able to scan of the interior of the destroyed ship, it is better that way. Based on my science officer’s report, I could easily believe these foes were demons from the depths of Gre’thor itself. But based on their departure course, they now go to bedevil the Federation. So some good may come of this yet.
—Kang, son of K’naiah
Battle Report to Klingon High Command
U.S.S. Beowulf NCC-1605
“This border incursion had better not be another false alarm,” Captain Vishakha Gupta grumbled as she flopped down into a seat near the head of the Beowulf’s briefing room table. “The Sau Lan Wu’s been out for three weeks, she’s overdue for maintenance, and I’m overdue for getting smashed at the Moonbeam Club and talking at least two young l
adies into carrying me to bed.”
Across from her, the captain of the Leonov directed a scathing raised eyebrow her way. “Captain Wesley would not have scrambled four additional ships on such short notice for an unconfirmed threat,” Captain T’Saren said. “And surely the colonists on Adelphous IV would consider it preferable if it were a false alarm.”
“Well, pardon me for not having a Vulcan’s endless stamina or sterile social life.”
“If you consider seducing random strangers under the influence of alcohol to be a social life, no wonder your stamina is so poor.”
Jim Kirk watched the two mature women uneasily as he took his own seat farther down the table. Next to him, Daniel Baek of the Oshosi leaned over and murmured, “Don’t worry about them. They’ve been bickering like that for fifteen years. It’s not serious.”
“I didn’t think Vulcans were known for their sense of humor,” Kirk whispered back, aware that Vulcans were known for their keen hearing.
“That’s what they want us to think. Lets them poke fun at us more efficiently.” Baek sighed, stroking his angular jawline. “Although I don’t think Gupta’s entirely joking. My crew’s restless too, overdue for shore leave. And I’ll be glad to get back to my son on the starbase. He’s had to put up with my wife’s cooking for too long.” The two men shared a laugh. “How about you, Jim? You seem pretty untroubled by the delay.”
Kirk shrugged. “I guess I’m married to my ship. My crew’s all the companionship I need right now.”
Baek threw him a skeptical look, but mercifully didn’t pursue it further. The older captain was surely up on the starbase gossip, so he had no doubt heard about it when Janet Miller had announced her marriage to Dr. Theodore Wallace, a man nearly twice her age, mere months after leaving the starbase. It had given the lie to her comforting insistence that she had left Kirk purely for the sake of her career, and that her fascination had been with Wallace’s brilliant research rather than with the man himself. Perhaps it had been unfair for Kirk to feel betrayed, for the two of them had never made any serious commitment. Yet he had been hurt nonetheless, and had refused to acknowledge her letters or send even token congratulations.
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